


Hair Raising

by Ignaz Wisdom (ignaz)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-24
Updated: 2009-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:38:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignaz/pseuds/Ignaz%20Wisdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“By the way, I like the new hair, Ryan. Have you seen that movie, <em>Single White Female</em>?”<br/>“Thank you, <em>silver fox</em>.”</p><p>--American Idol, February 2009</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hair Raising

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old ficlet from LiveJournal that I realized I'd (a) never posted to AO3 and (b) never titled.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know exactly what."

"I honestly haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

Ryan levels his strongest no-bullshit stare at Simon, whose expression of smugly knowing innocence fades not in the least. "Stop staring," Ryan says gravely, "at my hair."

Simon laughs. He glances at the open privacy window between where they're sitting in the back of the car and where their driver sits in the front. "I like it," he says. "I am truly flattered--"

"Okay, no," Ryan says. "My hair looks nothing like yours. See, mine is full-bodied and professionally styled, whereas yours is thinning and graying and looks like it was cut by a weed-whacker."

"Touche," Simon says, still chuckling, which would be maddening if it wasn't a whole different kind of maddening. Ryan looks at the back of the driver's head and wonders if he could close the window without being too obvious about it. Probably not. And probably not a good idea, anyway, as they're less than fifteen minutes from the Idol afterparty, and he doesn't want to start something he can't finish.

Although the idea of messing with Simon and then leaving him hanging always has a certain kind of appeal.

Of course, if he messes with Simon, though, Simon has to mess right back, and Ryan has a harder time hiding it than Simon. It's the clothes. And the hair. Simon's shirts are always untucked and frequently wrinkled, and he doesn't use anything in that weed-whackered mess of hair (Ryan actually loves the salt and pepper color, but he'll never admit it, even on pain of death); Ryan's look is more _finished_ , and it's impossible to get his hair to behave itself again after Simon has run his fingers through it a few times. Contrary to popular opinion, he does not carry hair gel around.

Simon reaches across the seat and strokes Ryan's thigh through his jeans. Simon's looking out his window at the passing city, his wandering hand the only sign that he even remembers that Ryan's in the car. Ryan puts his own hand over Simon's, patting it idly. The back of Simon's hand is dry. Ryan wishes he carried lotion.

"How long tonight?" Simon asks.

"An hour, maybe," Ryan says. He's continually shocked that Simon goes to these things at all, let alone that he stays until Ryan's ready to leave. Maybe Simon likes him that much. Or maybe Simon's just sick of Ryan calling him "Grandpa" whenever he skips out before midnight. Either way, Ryan's concession is to make them stay just as long as he feels he has to in order to officially put in an appearance.

Appearances are important.

"I want to get away again," Ryan says under his breath, leaning into Simon's space so the driver doesn't hear too much.

"We were just in St. Bart's," Simon says.

"I know. I was there. I want to go home."

Simon turns to look at him. "So go," he says.

Ryan gives him a pointed look, and after a moment, Simon's eyes widen and his eyebrows raise.

"What in God's name would I do in _Georgia_?" he asks. He says _Georgia_ like Ryan's just invited him to a lovely weekend in the pits of hell.

"Eat southern food. Enjoy the culture. The usual," Ryan says this last casually, giving Simon another look that sends a blush up the back of Simon's neck.

Simon shakes his head. "Georgia," he repeats, skeptical but obviously considering.

"My mother would love to see you again," Ryan adds sweetly.

Simon rolls his eyes and squeezes Ryan's jeans-covered knee.


End file.
